There are two times in your life when you enjoy Christmas.
The first is when you are a child. There’s something about the smell of the pine tree in the house, the decorations cluttering everything up, and most of all, the anticipation of what you will find on Christmas morning left for you by the jolly fat man, that stays with you for the rest of your life.
Indeed, every Dec 1, I have that momentary flash back to those innocent days before my parents divorced when we kids would tumble into the living room to see the presents under the tree. My parents would buy one gift worth some dollars for each child (there were four of us) and then go to Woolworth’s to buy lots of 25 cent gifts so that we’d have a nice holiday. I never noticed that many of my gifts were from the bargain bin.
The second time when Christmas is magical comes when you have your own kids.
I miss the days when my boy was a puppy and I would buy lots of toys in December. I got a vicarious thrill out of buying fire trucks, baseball mitts, and other wonderful things to put under the tree. My son rewarded me with an inexpressible joy on Chirstmas morning when he’d see the presents spilling out under the tree. His mother (who did not live with me) would come over to share Christmas morning with us (or, if he stayed with her the night before, I would load his presents into my car and go over to her place). I realized just yesterday how lucky I was that the boy’s mother and I got along so well that we routinely shared Christmas without drama. We did it for the boy, but now I realize that we also gave that gift of the holiday to one another.
I would always make sure the boy and his mother went with me to church to say hello to Jesus and wish him a happy birthday. And Jesus would always reply, “My birthday is in March. But thanks, anyway.”
(Christmas is actually a compromise holiday constructed by the church to take advantage to the Solstice/Saturnalia celebrated by the Roman pagans. Scholars believe Jesus was born sometime in March, when there was no snow in Israel to be found, despite what the carols would have you believe.)
These days I send his gifts to Michigan by Amazon, including some books for his lovely child, my only granddaughter. I’d love to be there with my son’s family on Christmas morning, but 2000 miles is a bit of a drive.
Right now I have finished Christmas for 2022. I sent out all my cards. I bought and sent all my gifts. I have made the calls I need to make before Christmas. I am driving up to Humboldt to be with the boy’s mother on the holiday. We’re going to eat Ham.
But this is the time to take a deep breath. Enjoy watching other people scurry around trying to get stuff done at the last minute. Ah, I remember the last minute frenzy. There was something wonderful about that, too.
I am old, living on memories now. But ah! What memories!
Mark Bruce, Writer 